


play it good and right

by finkpishnets



Series: night owls, early birds [2]
Category: Degrassi
Genre: College, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Timestamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:39:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finkpishnets/pseuds/finkpishnets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look," he says, taking the cell from Miles' hands, "we seriously don't need to do this. It's a stupid cliché, and what's it even going to prove? Besides, I was, like, ninety percent joking when I said it. Also it was your sister's fault."</p>
<p>"It's always my sister's fault," Miles says, sinking back into the plastic bench with a sigh. Zig wants to kiss him, which isn't even a little bit new but still kinda freaks him out anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	play it good and right

**Author's Note:**

> For the trope_bingo prompt "fork in the road."

"I can't believe _you’re_ the one freaking out about this," Zig says, running a cloth half-heartedly over the tabletop so his manager won't rag him out over talking to Miles. "It's totally stupid. We don't even need to do it."

Miles shoots him a glare and goes back to staring at his phone, running a hand through his hair until it's mussed up. Zig eyes it speculatively and has to remind himself he's still got an hour and a half on his shift. "It's culturally significant," Miles says, and Zig rolls his eyes.

"Geez, you sound like a dick sometimes."

A couple of guys from Zig's Composition class grab a booth the other side of the diner, and Zig leaves Miles to his existential crisis long enough to take their order and chat about their final assignment of the year. When he comes back, Miles is still in the same position, and Zig sighs and slides in next to him, deciding it's probably worth facing his manager's wrath to, like, console his boyfriend or whatever. Maybe. He swears he used to be better at this, but everything about Miles tends to fuck with his head, so.

"Look," he says, taking the cell from Miles' hands, "we seriously don't need to do this. It's a stupid cliché, and what's it even going to prove? Besides, I was, like, ninety percent joking when I said it. Also it was your sister's fault."

"It's always my sister's fault," Miles says, sinking back into the plastic bench with a sigh. Zig wants to kiss him, which isn't even a little bit new but still kinda freaks him out anyway.

"Hey," he says, latching onto the thought and running with it for distractions sake if nothing else, "how do you feel about PDAs? We never said."

Miles frowns up at him making it very clear he thinks Zig's an idiot. "I'm fine with them as long as I'm participating _in_ them. Watching other people try and slide into third base is not my thing."

"No voyeurism kink," Zig says, nodding. "Gotcha."

“ _God_ ," Miles says, and snatches his cell back. "Anyway, if you want to make out I'm down, but I don't think good ol' Terrance over there will appreciate it _quite_ as much."

Zig groans and chances a glance towards his manager who looks like he's roughly ten seconds away from firing him, which is a good third less patience than he usually shows. Zig's not sure if it's a homophobic thing or an age thing or a _him_ thing but he likes this job and he needs it if he's going to make rent on the place he and Miles are looking at for next year, so he smiles apologetically as he gets back up and doesn't need to be in earshot to know Terrance is growling.

"Fuckbag," he says, under his breath.

Miles pouts. "Hey," he says, "that's _my_ nickname."

"Nope," Zig says. "That _was_ your nickname. Then you started sticking your hand down my pants and it changed to--"

"Do _not_ say it," Miles hisses. "If you say it in public we are officially over and I'm taking custody of joint friends and all the strawberry flavored condoms."

"We have two joint friends and they both like me better," Zig says, "and fuck you, I bought those condoms."

Zig turns his attention to refilling sodas and seating a large family near the kitchen so the youngest kid's screams will only annoy Benny, the chef, and not the other customers. Benny's high most the time anyway, and also he thinks Blue Oyster Cult suck so he deserves it. By the time he's cleared the front half of the place, Terrance's shift has finished and Karen's taken over, flicking through her Poly Sci textbook by the milkshake machine and offering him a lazy wave when he stuffs a few more notes in the tip jar.

"Right," he says, dropping back down next to Miles with a plate of barely warm fries and a giant Coke, "Karen doesn't give a crap what I do between customers so I'm all yours until the Addams Family over there need their check. Finished freaking out yet?"

There's a blush rising up Miles' neck, and it's a rare enough sight that it takes Zig a moment to realize what it means.

"Wait," he says, "shit, it's done? Right. Fuck. Okay."

"Twenty-seven comments and counting," Miles says, and Zig wonders if it'd be totally inappropriate to hold his hand and does it anyway. "Shit, no wonder people stay single."

"Yeah, FYI we can never break up now. I'm not doing this again. Fuck that."

“ _Now_ who's the one freaking out?" Miles says, raising an eyebrow and squeezing his fingers too tightly.

It's weird how huge this feels. The whole journey _here_ has been easy, sliding from roommates to friends to touching on a semi permanent basis; Zig's pretty sure he was due a major freak out at some point, but it never came, and now he's so solidly in this thing he's surprised by the tight coil in his stomach at the thought of what other people -- people who don't know about Sunday night game nights or how half of Miles' wardrobe has migrated into Zig's or the quiet, content sound he makes when Zig slides an arm around his waist as they crawl into bed -- will think. He knows that Miles tries so hard to pretend he doesn't give a shit what the world thinks about him, and he also knows what bullshit that is; Miles cares, more than almost anyone, and once upon a time Zig would have exploited that, but now he just wants to pull him into a bubble and keep him safe from the casually cruel words flung about by people who haven't known them in what feels like forever.

Zig looks down at the cell now balanced on the edge of the table and feels his heart stutter on a beat. _Miles Hollingsworth III is in a relationship with Zigmund Novak_. It's stupid how overwhelming it is, and as the number of likes and comments keep rising, Zig gets the urge to just pick the stupid thing up and toss it across the room. Miles would probably kill him, though, so he settles for burying his head in Miles' shoulder instead.

"Who even uses Facerange anymore?" Miles says after a while, rubbing a hand down Zig's back. "I bet most of those are from my mom and her book club ladies."

Zig huffs out a laugh against his neck. "Yeah."

"We're pathetic," Miles points out. It's true. After that first huge conversation where Zig had spewed his emotions all over Miles and hoped for the best everything else has come naturally. Zig doesn't know if it's because they're so similar or if it's just because they're both too stubborn to repeat past mistakes, but he's pretty sure it doesn't matter when they're so disgustingly _happy_. Back in high school he would have punched or laughed or run at the very idea of Miles and him shacking up, but now it just _is_ , a natural progression that Zig knows he'll never voluntarily give up. Which is why this fucking anxiety is so _stupid_.

Zig reaches for the phone and for Miles, pressing into his space and letting his lips linger.

"What are you doing?" Miles says with a barely noticeable hitch that does wonders for Zig's ego and helps calm the storm of emotions in his chest.

"It's like you said," he says, stretching out his arm, "no one uses Facerange anymore. Hastygram's where it's at."

"Exhibitionist," Miles says, and Zig grins.

"Yeah," he says. "Now shut up and make out with me on camera."

"Such a romantic," Miles says, and kisses Zig first anyway.


End file.
